


i am blossoming anguish

by serenfire



Series: masks [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supervillains, Asexual Barry, Asexual Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenfire/pseuds/serenfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry's date with Eddie ends in the type of pain that turns souls inside out and breeds the confusion of a misunderstanding left hanging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i am blossoming anguish

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon is Barry has always been asexual (of course) but his actual repulsion to sex started after the things he's seen/stopped as the Flash.
> 
> @anyone I know irl: do not read thanks

Rainwater dribbles down his chin, splattering his blood-soaked shoes. Barry slides down the phone booth, curling the pay phone in his hands, pressed against his ear. “Pick up, dammit,” he whispers, eyes lifted to the front of the alley, where police sirens wail and Eddie’s voice is heard distinctly, recounting the ordeal to the cops. “ _Please_ pick up.” 

The end of the line clicks on, and Barry hears, “If this is a prank call I _swear_ —” 

“Hartley.” The words rush out. “It’s me.” 

The instrumental music in the background stops. “Are those cops I hear near you, Allen? Is this your one last call? _From a pay phone_?” 

“No — I’m not in that kind of trouble. But there was a robbery.” 

“I am aware of the bank, Allen. The meet’s in three hours to deliver the money.” 

“Another one.” Barry twists around, the lingering feeling of a presence standing behind his shoulder, but the alley is empty, and the sky pours absolution on his sins, and on the burning stretching between his shoulders. “At the restaurant I’m at. Eddie’s here, so I couldn’t save — the perps escaped. And I can’t run home.” 

“You need an escort at this time of night, Allen? In front of your boyfriend, too?” Hartley laughs. 

Barry hesitantly reaches around to feel the beginning of the anguish, and grits his teeth. “Eddie can’t take me home, _Rathaway_. Not when _all he wants_ is to take me back to his place.” 

Silence replaces the quick words, and Barry twists around to the feeling of being watched again. The alley remains dimly lit and slowly flooding, still empty. 

“I’ll be there,” Hartley says. “Ten minutes.” 

“Thank you,” Barry closes his eyes, collapsing against the phone booth. 

The phone clicks off. 

* 

Eddie holds Barry’s hand until he sits in the booth, hidden in the flickering light of the corner. It’s as unromantic as a 24 hour fast food joint can be, but Barry’s across from him, so the coffee he ordered will taste all the more special. 

Barry’s here with him, on a date, after work. Eddie repeats the thought to himself as Barry listlessly taps on the counter, and it sounds like such a _normal_ thing to do if it wasn’t the early morning after a midnight job. He’s been walking on eggshells because this is the _Flash_ resulting to the next step of villainy, and it’s the biggest news piece in Central City in weeks. 

“You look exhausted,” he offers, smiling at how Barry half-scowls at the comment, still engaged enough in the moment to react. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Barry languidly returns the expression. “I can’t be _that_ tired.” 

“Hey, I understand. Long week, important job, high stress levels with _you know which blogger_ invading our crime scene.” Eddie attempts another smile to go along with the hasty comeback, but it falls flat to Barry’s melancholy. 

“Hey, it’s Iris’s job as well. She didn’t just show up to glare at us.” 

“I don’t think she even noticed me.” It doesn’t hurt to admit that, however much it feels like it _should_. That love is long gone, and Eddie’s never been the type for lingering drama. 

“It’s not her fault, Eddie.” Barry’s staring just to the side of Eddie’s face, blinking too much for his vision not to be blurring, and fights off a wince as he stretches. “All her reactions are completely justified, and you know it.” 

Eddie looks down at his coffee. “I don’t really want to talk about this right now, Bar. I mean, if you do, sure — but you don’t look like you want a deep conversation about the past now.” 

“Why don’t we talk about the future?” Barry hums. “That’s safer.” 

Eddie brushes Barry’s hair to the side, and Barry stares transfixed at his hand. Like he can’t tell what it _means_. 

Ever since the impromptu makeout event accidentally in front of Iris, Barry had only held his hand at length, shrinking away whenever Eddie brushed his cuff. 

He’s not sure how this proposition will go — will it be the spark that sets everything else off? 

“What are you thinking?” Barry leans in. 

Eddie sits back and gazes at the swinging door. “I’m thinking — do you want to come home with me tonight?” 

The reaction is instantaneous. Barry stands, and glares at Eddie with a mixture of confusion and — _oh god, is that revulsion_ — and covers his mouth with his hand, turning around wordlessly to stare at the counter. 

Eddie stands as well, reaching out to Barry’s shoulder to comfort him. “I’m sorry, I take it back, you don’t have to — I didn’t mean to insinuate —” 

“I thought you _knew_ ,” Barry cuts back as he positively _flinches_ from Eddie’s touch like it stings him, dragging a hand through his own hair and taking a deep, shaky breath. “I thought you weren’t _expecting_ —” 

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Eddie interrupts, wildly waving his hands in a ‘no’ gesture. “I was just asking. Apparently I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. We can forget it.” 

Barry steps away from him again. “ _Forget_ it? Thawne, you don’t think I can just forget you _propositioned_ me on a whim, without discussing it at all _ever_. I can’t —” 

He is interrupted by the sound of three gunshots in quick succession, and Eddie’s reflexes latch onto Barry’s dress shirt and drag him under the table. Eddie notices the three men with handguns and ski masks entering the establishment. He’s got a gun in his waistband, but he’s outnumbered and protecting Barry. 

Their leader shouts, “Everybody on the ground! This is a robbery.” 

Eddie almost rolls his eyes. He’s seen toddlers act like bullies to better effect. 

The minions fire into the ceiling, busting a light, and screams echo across the room as the glass falls to the ground. “That’s right,” one leers. “The guns are real.” 

_I’m stuck in an amateur robbery, and I can’t do anything with Barry here_ . 

“You,” the leader sticks a handgun inexpertly in Eddie’s face. “Get out from under the table, hands in the air.” 

Eddie slowly disentangles him from Barry’s shaking, silent form, registering _loaded gun_ and also _boyfriend having a panic attack_. 

“The other one, too.” 

Eddie grits his teeth. “He’s having a panic attack.” 

“Drag him out, then.” 

He knows from experience touching someone _averse to touch_ while they’re hyperventilating and assuming they’re about to die is one way to create a permanently traumatic event, but he slowly grabs Barry’s quaking shoulders and inches him out from under the table. A bruise is blistering on his forehead, and tears are streaming down his cheeks, eyes squeezed shut, no bullet in him. 

The robbers turn to survey the harassed customers and fire another bullet into the ceiling, then walk up to the frozen cashier and request all the money, please. The cashier begins to empty the cash register at gunpoint, and her hands aren’t even shaking as hard as Barry. 

The guns aren’t pointed at him any more, though. Eddie could sneak up behind one of them and disarm him, then use him as a human shield so the other two would drop their weapons. It’s the only plan that will stall them long enough for real help to arrive. (Since the first gunshot, it’s only been three minutes. Still about another seven for the cops to arrive.) 

He leaves Barry with the whispered promise that he will return, and draws the gun from his waistband, sneaking up on the robber in the back, who holds his handgun to the side and shifts his weight, obviously bored. Eddie breaks the man’s wrist and knocks the gun to the floor in one smooth motion, and grapples him into a chokehold with his gun pressed against the side of his head. Unorthodox methods for a cop, but his boyfriend is twenty feet away and currently helpless. 

“Put the guns _down_ ,” Eddie barks at the other two, motioning his gun with ease at their bag of contraband cash. The two place their guns on the tile, and Eddie smiles slightly, relieved. “Now kick them over to me.” 

He discovers there is, in fact, a _fourth_ robber when he hears the click-release of a bullet behind him aimed toward his heart, and has time to think _well, shit_ , and to register that someone is barreling into him from the side, pushing him out of harm’s way and to the floor. 

Eddie remains oblivious to everything but the sight of life still in front of his eyes until he hears Barry screaming in pain. 

Barry twitches on the ground, tearing his shirt off to get to his back, where a stripe of blood blooms in the silent unrealism of the moment. 

“You’re shot,” Eddie breathes, pressing a hand to Barry’s bare skin as if to quench the bleeding. 

“It’s a flesh wound,” Barry breathes. “Scraped across me. I’m fine.” 

But Barry has so many scars on his back that aren’t from the bullet, and Eddie can’t remove his hand. Can’t do anything but thank God uncountable times that Barry Allen is still alive, that even after his _heroic_ attempt to save Eddie’s life he wasn’t shot dead himself. He presses his other hand to Barry’s side, where faint, indecipherable tattoo ink mixes with claw marks. 

Eddie can’t think, can’t _believe_ this is what Barry hides under long dress shirts and jeans, and walks around like he feels _normal_ all the time. Normal doesn’t involve saving a detective from a speeding bullet. 

“You saved my life,” Eddie whispers, almost catatonic. In his peripheral vision, the robbers streak out of the restaurant, cash littering the ground behind them. Cold feet at the sight of a man who is supposed to be dead. 

Barry reaches, spasming, to pull Eddie’s hands from his back, and rolls around. His eyes are red, water stains his cheeks, and he’s still shaking noticeably. “Don’t touch me,” he spits at Eddie, “ _please_.” 

Eddie can’t react as Barry stands and gathers his shirt, can’t believe Barry is still thinking of the ill thought-out proposal that happened before the weapons were drawn and fired. Eddie is still preoccupied at the spot on his own back where the bullet _didn’t_ pierce, and the breath he’s still taking, all borrowed from Barry Allen. 

The familiar sirens of the damned interrupt Eddie’s empty-eyed stare, and he turns to see Joe leap out of the cop car and run through the door. 

Eddie’s being picked up and dusted off and asked to recount the encounter twenty times, and what’s in his mind now is logistics, and the money that the CCPD owes the restaurant back. Not Barry Allen. Not the clotting flesh that will turn into an open line of a sore on Barry’s back, currently pressed against a flat surface so Barry doesn’t lose all the fluid in his veins. It’s on the mission, and nothing more. 

* 

Barry opens his eyes when he hears the screeching of tires signaling Hartley has arrived, coupled with Joe’s incredulous, “ _Rathaway_? What are you doing out this time of night _on parole_?” 

He pulls himself up by the phone booth, straightening out his cuffs and flexing his unsteady feet. Not much evidence left, aside from the stains that will stick to his shirt forever, that he was at the scene of a crime. _I can’t even remember it_. 

Barry steps out into the street where the cop cars have formed a barricade, arms crossed to conserve body heat in this storm of wind and water. Harley is in his Ferrari, absently texting and ignoring Joe’s stream of questions. His footsteps are recognizable to the man’s upgraded hearing aids, and Hartley glances over at him, and his expression immediately changes from his obvious mask of standoffishness to genuine concern at Barry’s mental well being. Barry knows he looks like shit, and feels worse. 

Hartley even steps out of the driver’s seat to help him into the car, staring at the wound remnants on his shirt. Barry knows they will all pester Eddie for _what happened to the forensics analyst who also happens to be at the scene of the crime_. 

He doesn’t, in fact, care at this moment. Eddie can tell them that they were on a date, and Barry wouldn’t be bothered in the least. He’s still alive, after committing a crime and preventing one. Maybe this is how karma works. 

Hartley doesn’t ask him any questions, and doesn’t comment on the state Barry’s in. He stops the expensive car outside of Barry’s apartment, and motions for Barry to get out. 

“Thank you,” Barry turns to him. 

Hartley shakes his head. “Don’t mention it. When you wake up, we can reschedule the meet. I only need it by Tuesday.” 

Barry nods. “I can do that.” 

“Hey. Your boyfriend said you did a spectacular job today.” 

“Of course he did,” Barry sighs. “He wants me back.” 

“You know I don’t give a shit about drama, but if you want an in on the police radars, you better keep a good hold of that one.” Hartley watches Barry’s reaction, framed by the rain outside. 

Barry tips his head to the Rathaway. “I know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](http://www.tylerjosephstoast.tumblr.com)


End file.
